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 wings. Under him, under her, the terrace sank away.

She shut her eyes, she held her breath, and the blood left her heart. Under her the castle sank away.

“Stop!” she implored. “I am dying. . . .”

“I thought so, Psyche. You are much too weak. You cannot go up with me. . . .”

She opened her eyes slightly. She sat on his back in the silver down, where his quills clave to his light-gold loins. And round her, circles of light revolved, one after the other, and made her dizzy.

“Descend!” she implored. “Oh, descend! I cannot endure it. I have no breath; I am dying.”

He descended. . . . He stood on the terrace. She slid along his wing to the ground. She put her hands before her face, and when she opened her eyes she was alone.

Then she was very, very sad. But next day, he appeared again. And, more courageous, she wished to mount him again. He let her do as she desired, and she got on his back. She shut her eyes, but smiled. He went higher and higher with her, without her saying “Descend.” She travelled for a time